The Guardian Angel

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This story might be a little odd and slow to start, but I hope you like it! I would love to get feedback from women regarding the accuracy of my descriptions of life from their point of view.

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The first time it happened I was sitting at my desk, lost in thought. The beige and grey of the cubicle walls faded and were replaced by a vision of a clear blue sky. In front of me was a dusty street flanked by rows and rows of colorful tents of various shapes and sizes. A deep thumping noise echoed in my head.

The vision was fading when I noticed that this was not an image I was seeing, but a sight. There was the slight wobble that comes when walking. I was seeing this image through someone’s eyes.

The vision faded and I was back in my cubicle. Did I just fall asleep? Was that a dream? It felt so real, so present. I looked around me, anxious that I had made some noise, or said something in this half-conscious state. But the office was still, with only the printer in the corner buzzing away for some unknown reason. The hum of the fluorescent fixtures seemed incredibly loud.

The commute home was uncomfortable. I sat behind the wheel, staring at the car inching along ahead of me, unable to shake the feeling that I did not have a dream, but a vision. Something real. But of what? That image made no sense.

At home, finally alone, I sat on the couch and just closed my eyes, trying to recapture the image in my mind. But it remained a memory, without the intense sense of presence that the original vision had.

I ate my dinner while watching TV, but the routine of my evening had been shattered. The idiot box was blaring some silly show, and the microwave dinner was just a plate of tasteless mush. Nothing in my life was as bright as that sky. That was the slap in the face. Having seen the intense blue, the colorful tents, I suddenly became aware of the grey-beige tones that dominated my world, my wardrobe, my apartment, my office, my life.

I laid in bed, awake, staring at the dull beige ceiling. I turned the light off, turning it black. The darkness invited light, and suddenly I had another vision.

A woman, blonde, smiling, dressed in some extravagant manner; a gold-colored bra, thin gold chains draped across her chest, a cotton scarf around her neck, feathers in her her hair. She was beautiful and covered in a thin layer of dust. She didn’t seem to care, her smile was broad and her eyes bright with laughter. Behind her was a sea of tents, some large, some small, all colorful and decorated. I saw cars, too, and trucks, familiar shapes. A sound was booming around us, just like before.

I noticed that this sight was from an elevated position. I looked around and noticed that we were on top of an open-topped bus that was slowly making it’s way through the tents. I then noticed that I was indeed looking around. I had eyes. I was not a disembodied witness. I looked down.

I was a woman. I saw bare breasts and below them a smooth belly. My arms were thin and graceful, holding on to the railing. I had some sort of leather harness on that criss-crossed my chest and back, but left my breasts bare and exposed. My breasts. They seemed…of medium size? I had never seen breasts from this angle. But I could feel them, the slight tug forward on my shoulders to hold them up. The warm breeze on my nipples, so sensitive, so much more sensitive than my own masculine ones.

The vision suddenly burst. The feeling of being in that woman’s body had been intense, overwhelming. That had not been a dream, just as I was fully awake now, in the darkened bedroom. I tried to reconnect to that vision but once again it escaped me. I laid awake for a while, staring into the darkness. Finally sleep took me.

The following evening, after another boring day at work, I poured myself a glass of whiskey. I was determined to somehow trigger these visions I was having. I figured that I saw what I had seen when my guard was down, when I was half-asleep or half-comatose with boredom. When my mind was blank, my consciousness lessened.

So I drank the whiskey and sat on the couch. Nothing. I drank another shot of whiskey and closed my eyes.

The camp site was tiny, just three tents squeezed between two cars and a shade structure. On the other side of this private circle were other tents, tents as far as the eye could see. The sky above was clear and blue. I was carrying a small plastic tub in one hand and a towel in the other.

Behind one of the car a small structure had been erected from tall poles and old sheets. An outdoor shower. I knew all this. I was not in control, just a passenger in this body as it went about its day, and yet I also had access to some memories, some knowledge of the situation. I was at Burning Man. I was about to take my morning bath.

Surrounded on all sides by the hanging sheets of the outdoor shower, I peeled of my shorts. I could feel a doubled set of emotions. This body, this woman, was calm and serene, Avcılar Escort maybe a little hung over. The other me, the one sitting on the couch, had a lump in his throat, catching glimpses of a small patch of curly hair at the base of her (my?) belly. Standing naked, I splashed water over me, using very little water, using instead a wash rag to wipe the thin layer of dust that covered my skin.

There was a momentary thrill went that rag brushed against the soft skin of my breast, grazing a nipple hardened by the cool water. The water ran down my chest, pooling briefly in my belly button before slipping down to be lost in the small patch of pubic hair. There was a quick brush with the rag between the legs, a disturbing sense of absence where my cock should have been.

I wanted to touch more, to explore this body, but I was not in control. All I could do was witness this process. Legs and feet were wiped and cleaned, the tub of now brown and soapy water dumped on a plastic tarp to be evaporated. I wrapped the towel around my waist and stepped out.

There was a strange disconnect with the world around me. A small kitchen area had been set up under the shade structure, just a folding table and a few coolers, some boxes of dry food tucked under. A few folding chairs were huddled in the shade. As I glanced over the kitchen, I could feel the weight of all these objects. Indeed, the world around me felt heavier, harder to move. The boxes that I knew, as a man, I could lift easily were now obstacles to be wrestled with.

Standing in the sun dressed only in a towel, I felt fragile in a heavy world, delicate in a space full of sharp corners. I knew that the leather straps I had worn during the first vision was a form of armor, a way to claim a power that I did not always have.

I blinked on my couch. That sense of fragility hit too close. I was a man, I could lift heavy boxes, but I was just as powerless in moving my own life forward. In a way it was worse, because I was supposed to be powerful, strong, tough. Instead I was beige, powerless, and at the mercy of my boss. I drank the rest of the whiskey but had no more visions that night.

Laying in bed that night, laying awake in the dark, I wondered about these visions. They were not just a glimpse into a different place, they were a glimpse into a different self. There was no way of explaining it, but that body had been mine, those emotions, memories and thoughts had been familiar and intimate. That was me, as a woman, in a different life, in a different place.

A self from a parallel dimension? Was this connection made because she was me, because we were actually the same? I ached to reconnect with her, me, that me that felt good, happy, fragile but serene, hung over because last night had been fun instead of miserable. I needed to reconnect.

The next day at work was a blur. All I could think of was that other me in the other place. I researched Burning Man, that wild art and music festival in the Nevada desert. I looked at pictures and it felt strangely familiar. I also felt happier, as if some of her emotions had stayed with me, or, maybe, I was feeling what she was feeling even wide awake. The grey world around me felt less real, too dull to be true.

I poured myself another glass of whiskey. I had lit a single lamp, keeping the apartment in an artificial dusk. Instead of the couch, I laid down on the carpeted floor of the living room. Naked, I closed my eyes and reached out, guided by my feelings of hope.

The sun was setting and I was getting dressed in my evening wear. A soft shawl was thrown over my shoulders, the fabric delicious against the bare skin of my back. I was sorting through a pile of brightly colored tights, trying to pick one, standing in front of the open trunk of my car where I kept bags of clothing. My breasts were a sensual presence in front of me, swaying pleasantly as I moved, making me feel soft and feminine.

On my back in my dark living room, I pushed, trying to force my way into this body, to control it. Instead, the world went sideways. Images flashed in front of my eyes as time flew forward. The sun travelled and set in the blink of an eye. I was clothed, eating, drinking, ready to go. My friend, the blonde woman from before, had placed a tab on my tongue. In a freeze-frame of attention I felt the tab dissolve on my tongue. The world slipped again. My other self had let go, the drugs had dampened her consciousness.

I was in.

This time when I looked around, I could feel my head turn to face the direction I wanted to look in. I raised my hand in front of my face. My hands. My friend, Lizbeth I remembered, was turned away from me, looking for something in her bag. I walked over to the full length mirror that had been propped up against a pole of the shade structure. There, in it, my reflection, myself.

I was a slim woman, not skinny but feminine, with curvy hips and full breasts. Beylikdüzü Escort I had short brown hair cut in a pixie bob, framing a strong face, pretty if a bit tomboy-ish. I was wearing a bowler hat with some weird steampunk goggles strapped to it. A black bandana was wrapped around my neck. Across my chest, the same black leather straps that framed my naked breasts. Breasts that were full, round, tipped with thick brown nipples.

I had on a pair of black lace boy shorts over black fishnet tights, with a jingly belt of chains and baubles slung across my hips. On my feet, black cowboy boots. A Goth punk look? I didn’t know how to call it, but it was sexy and fearless. I felt sexy, which was a new feeling for me.

I threw a multi-colored coat over my shoulders. Night was falling and the air would turn cold quickly. That action took me by surprise since I had not decided to do it. I was not in full control, all the knowledge and instincts were still there, carried by the body. I could feel how if I just relaxed my intent she would continue along her way. I was not the ruler of this body, I was the back seat driver with a strong opinion. That was fine for now.

Lizbeth and I bicycled across the vast expanse of the playa as the camps started to light up. All around us were the lights of the camps and the glow of the art cars as they cruised across the flat desert. We found a dance camp where we dropped our bikes and our coats.

I walked through the crowd, music blasting at our ear drums. The crowd felt dense, the men tall and heavy. Instead of shouldering my way through as I would have done as a man, I skipped and moved out of the way of these lumbering beasts with their flailing arms and stomping feet. But instead of being invisible, I was the focus of attention of a half dozen men. I could feel their gaze wash across my body, caught by my naked breasts, my swaying ass. I caught the eye of one of them and smiled. He smiled back, his face lightening up.

I felt the pull of my body, knew that I could play with those eyes that were following me. If I moved just so, let my hips sway just so, let my breasts swing just so, if I looked up at the right time, I could have them all.

Laying on my living room floor, that power felt intoxicating. But I also felt the imbalance, how these men that were begging for my approval were also these massive beasts that could turn violent, threatening. It was a dangerous game women played. A dangerous game I played. Did I want to play this game? Did I want these men dancing around me to reach out to me, to touch me? She did, I could feel the hunger building in her belly. I had a flash of her memories of past encounters, of men parting her legs and plunging their hard cocks in the softness of her pussy, of the pleasure she had in being filled, split, opened, taken, of taking and swallowing.

Too many cocks for one night. I snapped my eyes open, confused. The feelings I had were positive, glowing even, but they left me confused. I didn’t have a pussy! Those feelings were weird, coming from the wrong places, too intense and exposed. But my cock was rock hard, confusingly, surprisingly.

That was it for that night. Tomorrow, I promised myself, more tomorrow. I fell asleep on the living room floor.

I sat in my office chair, staring at the blank screen of my computer. I had done no work today, not that anyone noticed. I was feeling my way through new emotions, and new memories. I was finding snippets of information about places I had never been, but obviously she had. I had a vague, blurry sense of her life, of her past, of her wishes. I sat there, searching through the bits of her mind that had been copied onto mine, searching for a clue. How was she so happy? If we were the same, what path did she follow that lead her to her happiness, where did I go wrong?

A name came up, the name of where she was working. She had found a job at an art collective of some sort, or a kid’s museum, it was unclear. But the name was. On a whim, I did a quick search.

There it was. It existed here. As if guided by another hand, I looked up their job offerings. My breath caught in my throat; there it was, an open position, one I could apply for, that I would be perfect for. My palms started to sweat.

By the end of the day I had fired off a resume.

That evening, I started drinking my first glass of whiskey. I was so nervous about the job application that I was covered in nervous sweat. I decide to take a shower before trying to connect again with my other self. I stood in the shower, letting the water calm me. My mind flashed on last night’s vision, of feeling sexy and desired. My cock grew hard. Without thinking, I touched it, rubbing it to full mast. I gave it a few strokes, the sensations starting to pulse in the tip of my cock. But I stopped. I had another thought.

Naked, I went to the living room. I downed the other glass of whiskey and laid down, Esenyurt Escort my erect cock standing up like a flag pole. I closed my eyes.

The body on top of me was heavy, hard, smelling of musk and dust. A combination I apparently found intoxicating. I was in my tent, in semi-darkness, naked. The man above me naked too. My legs were wide open, hips pushed out, feet raised and propped against his hips. His body weight was pressed against my pussy as he slid his cock up and down along the wet slit, though he was not inside. My small hand was wrapped around his hard cock.

Lying on the living room floor, I grabbed hold of my own cock.

I remembered the brief moment of penetration, the feeling of fullness and pleasure. My nipples were hard and electric, begging to be touched. I had made him pulled out, we had no protection, this had been too much of a spur of the moment thing. He was rubbing his cock along my pussy as I jerked him off, his cock wet and slick with my own juices.

My own cock felt hard in my hand.I started to stroke it, matching the rhythm of her hand on his cock.

I could see my small hand on a cock, and could feel my large hand on my own cock. I could feel as his hard cock split my pussy open, pressed against my clit as he moves back and forth. I pinched my nipple between thumb and finger, pressing the flesh of my breast against my hand. I watched his handsome face as it twisted in pleasure, heard my own ragged breath in my ear. My clit was swollen, throbbing, sending pulses of pleasure through my body. The tip of my cock was electric, my balls swollen, a pressure building at the base of my cock.

I was about to cum, my hands on both cocks, moving rapidly up and down, faster and faster. My hips rocked against his cock, grinding my clit against him.

I came in a swirl of feelings and emotions. The hand on my cock was mine and hers, the cock in my hand was mine and his. He sent a pulse of cum arching in the air to splash against my tummy, as my cock sent a pulse of cum arching to splash against my hairy belly. My hips rocked back and forth, dragging a pulse of pleasure out of my clit, the lips of my pussy wrapped around the shaft of his cock.

I fell back agains the carpeted floor of the living room, spent. I tried to catch my breath as a pulsing orgasm continued to rock through me, a sensation I had never experienced before. So much longer and wider than my usual ones. Was that how women felt when they orgasmed? It was delicious and overwhelming, much more all-bodied than the punch in the gut of my usual ones.

I laid still for a while, catching my breath, not knowing what to think. I had had unmistakably sexual feelings for that man. Was I turning gay? I didn’t feel gay. The memory was hot, intense, but I couldn’t imagine myself with another man. I decided to push back those feelings as far away as possible and pretend they had never existed.

The following evening after work I stopped at a bar. I didn’t usually do that, but I figured that if I had to drink to have these visions, I might as well stop at a bar. I found myself seated at the local pub, not the usual dark dive I ended up in in my darker drinking days. This one was brighter, cheerier. I had a beer, which tasted fresh. I actually smiled at the bartender. Were these sessions with my other self rubbing off more and more on me?

I spent an hour at the bar, scoping out the scene. I caught the eye of a few ladies, even got a smile out of one of them. I was halfway out of my chair to go chat with her when I stopped myself. What was I thinking? Why did I think I could go and talk to a woman and expect anything else but rejection and misery? I dragged myself out of there and headed home.

After a quick diner I poured myself another whiskey. Naked, I laid on my floor and closed my eyes. I wanted more. I needed more.

The sun was high already, but I had barely finished breakfast. The night had been long, the dancing intense. I was still a little high from the pill Lizbeth had given me. A swig of Red Bull for breakfast woke me up, but revved up those warm fuzzy feelings the little pills gave me.

I had tied a large sarong around me, criss-crossed in front of my breasts and tied behind my neck so that the bottom barely fell to mid-thigh. The sun felt bright, my nipples tingly, my clit buzzing. I felt naughty. I had a bottle of sunscreen in my hand. That was step two of the morning ritual , after the caffeine.

Lying on my living room floor, I had a thought, pushed us a little.

I stepped out onto the main street that fronted our little camp. This was one of the avenues that circled around the camp-ground of this festival. All manners of people, mostly on bicycles, were going back and forth. We were not very close to the center of the festival, so the foot traffic was pretty thin. I stood at the edge of the dusty street, which was really just a path created out of the hard desert that was kept free of tents. I stood there, sunscreen in hand, looking for someone to come by.

I called out to a young man who was passing by on a bicycle. That had not been my choice, but she had called out before I could do anything.

The young man, dressed only in a pair of multi-colored pants, circled his bike and came to a stop in front of us.

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